


Childish Things

by orbythesea



Category: The Good Wife (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-05
Updated: 2011-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-19 00:52:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orbythesea/pseuds/orbythesea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She refuses to become one of those women who meets a guy and forgets herself."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Childish Things

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [On As Before](https://archiveofourown.org/works/193689) by [orbythesea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orbythesea/pseuds/orbythesea). 



>   
> _When I was a child, I spake as a child, I felt as a child, I thought as a child: now that I am become a man, I have put away childish things._  
>  \--1 Corinthians 13:11  
> 

Will finds her in the library, curled up in her favorite study room with her Civ Pro casebook.

"You've been at it for hours," he says, sliding into the chair across from her. "Don't you ever take a break?"

"Some of us want to make law review," she teases, not looking up from the text. "And that's not going to happen if I don't understand the intricacies of service of process." She's smiling in spite of herself and the truth is, she probably _should_ take a break. It might even be good for her.

"You know what else will keep you off law review?" he shoots back. "Starvation."

She chuckles, looking up. "And what did you have in mind?"

"It's a secret," he says, expression serious.

"A secret lunch?" she asks, swatting his hand away as he reaches over to grab her book.

"A secret lunch," he confirms. "Come on, it'll be great."

Somehow, they end up in Anacostia of all places and he parks across from a giant chair that he read about in some guidebook. "See?" he says, and she can't help but laugh.

They spend an hour or two sitting on the hood of his car, picking at fish and chips and talking about law, about school, about life. He tells her about the Rule 4 draft, about messing up his shoulder before the signing deadline and ending up in law school instead of the minor leagues. Just about the only thing she knows about baseball is that it's a tragedy when the Yankees beat the Red Sox, and it's fascinating, listening to him.

When his car won't start, she puts a hand on his arm to calm his frustration and he shoots her a look that she's never seen before. It's tender and sweet and warm and if he didn't have a girlfriend, she'd think that he might be about to kiss her.

"Metro?" he suggests instead and she nods.

On the train home, she feels lighter than she has in weeks, remembers that she's still young enough to enjoy a Saturday afternoon. "Thanks for this," she says. "I think you might have saved me from becoming an old woman before I turn twenty five." She laughs.

"Everyone needs giant furniture in their lives," he says, deadpan. "Giant inanimate objects in general, really. They're like, the antidote to all of that 'noble profession' and 'thinking like a lawyer' crap that they pile on us."

*

By finals week, they've become virtually inseparable, and she's gotten used to studying to the steady _thud_ of a baseball hitting a wall as he tosses, catches, and tosses it.

"It helps me focus," he told her in October, when she complained that it was distracting. By December, _she_ finds it hard to focus without it and during her last final, she loses valuable minutes as her overtired mind wanders back to his tiny little apartment the night before, to the way his fingers ran over the seam of his ball, tracing it in an endless line as he talked himself through various types of easements.

Afterwards, at the post-exam celebration at Irish Times, she can't stop thinking about it, can't stop talking about it, and she keeps circling around the _why_ , but he has a girlfriend and she can't quite make the words come out.

"I mean," she says instead, "I feel like my treatment of easement by estoppel could have been stronger, so-- "

He cuts her off with his lips against hers and for a moment, she freezes, caught in that gray space between shame and desire until she feels him start to withdraw and she tells shame to take a backseat.

She kisses him back, opening her mouth to him as he slides her hand into her hair. She presses him against the wall, his body solid and soft and warm against hers and she hears herself whimper against his mouth. It's embarrassing, how much she wants this, wants _him_ , and just like that, shame rears its head and she pulls away.

"Will," she whispers, breathless and dizzy. _Ask me to come home with you,_ she wants to say, but then she remembers that panicked feeling in the exam room, the picture of Helena in his wallet. "Will," she says again, smile fading.

He says her name and it takes everything she has to remind herself of all the reasons that this should not, _cannot_ happen.

"No, don't. We'll talk later," she mumbles before turning to run.

*

She spends the next day packing and resisting the urge to call him. Once books and clothes and Christmas gifts are all tucked safely into her suitcase, she just needs to get out of the apartment and is halfway to his place before she chickens out and goes home to get the first full night's sleep she's had in months.

She's making her way to the Amtrak platform at Union Station, tired and frustrated, when he slides up next to her and reaches out a hand for her bag. It takes her a moment to process the sight of him. Carla Templeton had offered him a ride to National in exchange for gas money so she can't quite figure out why he's here at all.

He tells her that Carla backed out, last minute, and jerks his head in the direction of the Metro platform, offers to help her with her bag.

"You look like you need help more than I do," she points out, and it's true. He's got a couple of duffels slung over his shoulder, a briefcase in his hand, and he looks like he might fall over at any moment. They both get quiet, then, and it's weird and uncomfortable and utterly unlike the easy way conversation just flows between them, usually.

They talk about travel arrangements, and she asks about Helena, forcing herself to remember just one of the reasons why it's weird, why it's wrong. The truth is, she's never met Helena but she kind of hates her anyway, but it's easier to think about Helena than it is to think about herself, her fears, her _feelings._

"You have a girlfriend," she says before he can say anything that might make her want to forget to be afraid. "Chalk it up to too much Guinness and everything goes back to normal in January." She's not sure what normal looks like anymore, but she needs it, needs to regain her focus, to remember how hard she's worked for this. She's already starting to lose it and she can't, she won't, she _refuses_ to become one of those women who meets a guy and forgets herself. "I have to go," she says, mournfully. "My train-- "

She's actually disappointed when he doesn't follow her.

*

"Will called," Owen sing-songs when she walks through the door at three in the morning.

She jumps and even in the dark, she knows Owen can tell she's blushing beet red. "Will?" she repeats, trying to sound casual, like it doesn't matter, like her stomach's not tying itself into knots at the mention of his name.

"Will," Owen repeats. "I told him you were out with Eric, he said-- "

She can feel the blood drain from her face and she winces. "Owen, you didn't," she whispers, as if it matters that she was, as if she has something to be ashamed of. She doesn't, she really doesn't. He has a girlfriend and so what if she and Eric spent the evening sharing war stories, catching up. So what if they'd started the evening with the understanding that it wasn't a date, that they were just friends but, two hours later, she let him kiss her anyway?

She's young and single and they were good together. It was never love, not on her part, but Eric's a great guy, smart and clean and driven. So what if they don't fit together the way they used to, if her mind wandered a bit while they were making love? They're both adults, they've both spent the past few months working their asses off, her at Georgetown, him at Harvard Business. They were both tipsy and horny and so what if it doesn't mean what it did before?

"I did," Owen says. "Is that a problem, Big Sister? Will's your _study partner_ , right?" He's grinning now, big and mocking and she regrets ever having mentioned Will's name at all, regrets protesting that he was just a friend, just a study partner, just-- just anything. "So what if he knows that you were out doing the nasty with your ex?"

"I wasn't," she shoots back, but it's three in the morning and it's not an argument she can win.

*

January comes, and she resolves not to let herself get distracted this semester, not to think about it, about him. Between classes and studying and interviews for summer jobs, she keeps busy and they fall back into their familiar routine. Some things change, of course. They don't work at his apartment anymore, for one thing. She's not sure why, but somehow it's better this way. He finds a little diner that's open all night and serves grilled cheese sandwiches that are positively swimming in grease, and at three in the morning, she thinks they're perfect.

They've both figured out _how_ to study for law school, and even though it's still grueling, the pace feels different, somehow, more relaxed. They take a very different approach to OCI, and their schedules reflect it. She casts a wide net, submitting resumes to firms from San Francisco to New York, determined not to miss out on a single opportunity just in case none come her way. Will sticks mainly with Chicago firms, and he's a midwestern boy at heart so it makes sense.

It means that she spends a lot of time interviewing for jobs that she doesn't really want, and he uses that time to get back into baseball, playing casual games with a bunch of other 20-somethings. In March, she takes him up on his invitation to come watch him play and she sits cross-legged in the grass, a casebook open in her lap, but she's doesn't get anything done. Watching him pitch is like nothing she's ever experienced before.

He's careful and controlled in his movements, but more than that, he's _good_. He reminds her of a dancer, all focus and grace and passion. She can't drag her eyes away from him but she's pretty sure he doesn't notice. It becomes a part of their routine, after that, and she never gets much done, but she can watch him without feeling guilty for it and it helps with her resolve not to let him get under her skin the way he did in the fall. It's an outlet.

It's a nice distraction, too, from the way her family's falling apart over her mom's latest boyfriend. Frank was around over Christmas, of course, but when he picked a fight with Owen over Colorado's Amendment 2, Alicia figured that would be that. As much as she feels sick when her mom calls to say that Frank's moving in, it's nothing compared to how Owen feels.

"I'm not going home as long as _he's_ there," he tells her over the phone, and she can't help but agree. She steps up her pursuit of Chicago firms, then, because Owen might be eighteen, but she's not sure she trusts him to live on his own this summer.

It doesn't hurt that Will's first choice is to go back to Chicago, but she tells herself that's a secondary concern, a tertiary one, even. She turns down an offer from Cravath and it's not as hard as it should be, really, but it doesn't mean it's easy. She feels like things might be falling into place when Will gets an offer from Williams & Connolly to stay in Washington for the summer.

"You have to take it," she tells him. "Will, if you want to be a litigator? You'd be an idiot to turn it down." Still, she feels like a part of her is being ripped apart when he _does_.

*

At the beginning of June, Will casually mentions that he and Helena broke up and she pretends to be sorry. She half expects him to say something about her, about _them_ , but he doesn't. The weeks go by and he _still_ doesn't give any indication that that kiss back in December meant anything at all, and it almost breaks her heart. They're friends, though, and that's something. That's everything, really, and she wouldn't trade it.

The firm's sponsoring a dinner to promote diversity in the Chicago legal community, a swanky affair with high profile speakers and table assignments. The summer associate coordinator sends out an memo letting them know that they should interpret their invitations as obligations, so she straightens her hair and trades in her pantsuit for a little black dress. She's supposed to be networking, but she's always been shy and she's not entirely sure what that even means, so she hangs back, sipping a glass of cabernet and trying to figure out where to begin.

She's taking it all in, listening and occasionally joining in on a conversation when it feels appropriate, but somehow her eyes keep returning to a tall, dark-haired man who seems to be always on the other side of the room, no matter where she is. It's frustrating, that, and she can't quite figure out why, every time she looks up, her eyes are drawn to him. He's attractive enough, sure, but there are plenty of pretty people in the room. It's his energy, she decides. It's the way he seems so at ease no matter who he's talking with. She catches him laughing with, she thinks, one of the justices on the Illinois Supreme Court and she wonders if she'll ever feel that comfortable in the world she's working so hard to gain entrance to.

She's staring, she knows, but he's easily a hundred feet away and, surely, that's a safe distance. When he looks straight at her and _grins_ she nearly drops her drink. She turns and walks in the opposite direction, trying to make sense of what she's feeling. It's a new thing for her, being so powerfully drawn to -- so powerfully in awe of -- someone she's never even met. It's physical, chemical, even, and she's not sure what to make of it. It's thrilling and terrifying and visceral and, if nothing else, it keeps her mind off of Will.

She smiles into her wine glass and thinks, well, it's okay to look. An hour later, she's engaged in a passionate discussion of prophylactic rules with another summer associate when someone behind her picks up her argument and continues it, taking it to the next logical step and she was _just about to do that_. She turns to tell the stranger that she can win her own fights, but it's him, with the dark hair and the grin and she thinks, _oh._

"Peter Florrick," he says, extending a hand.

"Alicia," she says, once she can find her voice. "Cavanaugh."

The rest of the evening passes too quickly and she's trying to figure out a way to give him her number without seeming too forward when he pulls out a business card and scrawls something on the back.

"My home number," he says, handing her the card. "Can I get--?"

She hands him her own card before he can finish asking.

When she gets into the office the next morning, she's got two messages, Will and Peter. Instinctively, she starts to dial Will's number then stops, hangs up, and calls Peter back.

*

He kisses her after their first date, soft and sweet and when he pulls away, she wants more. "Is it too soon to ask what you're doing tomorrow night?" he asks, eyes dancing.

By the end of the week, they're on their third date. He's smart and funny and demanding, and he doesn't let her get away with anything. He challenges her on everything, and after a year of the Socratic method, of professors insisting that law school's less about learning the law and more about learning to think like a lawyer, after being told that her mind and thoughts and self will be somehow altered, molded, changed-- for the first time, she thinks she knows what they mean.

It's a weird thing to be thinking about on a date, and he laughs when she tells him.

"Are you accusing me of trying to change the way you think?" he asks, and she shakes her head.

"No, it's not that, I mean I like the way you think. I like the way I think, when I'm with you." She ducks her head, letting her hair fall over part of her face. "I like the way I _feel_ when I'm with you."

It's one of those hot, humid summer nights where the air feels heavy and oppressive. As they walk back towards her building, he slides an arm around her waist, keeping her close in spite of the heat and she feels lightheaded and giddy. She wants to ask him up, but Owen's light is on and she's not ready to share, not yet. Besides, it's Friday and she really doesn't want to introduce them if Owen's drunk or worse so she just keeps on walking. He laughs and pulls her to him, presses her against the side of her building and kisses her.

"Alicia," he breathes, and his voice is thick and warm, heavy like the air. It feels like honey, and she's like a fly, irresistibly drawn to it.

"My brother's home," she whispers as a reluctant explanation, and she hates herself a little for feeling like she needs to apologize for Owen.

Peter nods, still pinning her against the cool brick behind her. "My place isn't far," he murmurs, tongue lapping at the space just below her ear. "We could get a cab."

She nods, and she's pretty sure that this is fast by anyone's standards, but by hers, it's a marathon. Still, it doesn't even occur to her to say no.

They make love in his bed and it's _good_ in ways that she didn't know sex could be. His A/C unit is broken, and it's entirely too hot in the apartment, but afterwards he slides an arm around her anyway, pulling her close.

"I should go," she murmurs.

He shakes his head and presses a kiss against the back of her neck. "Or you could stay," he breathes. "Don't move, I'll be right back."

She reaches for the sheet, draws it up over her body, acutely aware of how very naked she is. He returns a moment later with a bowl of ice water and peels the sheet away. He paints wet circles against her skin and teases her lips with ice cubes and isn't long before she's reaching into the drawer of his nightstand for another condom.

The sun is almost up when they finally sleep. Still, she forces herself awake with his alarm, unwilling to let Owen catch her sneaking into their apartment smelling of sweat and sex and boy. Peter reaches for her as she starts to roll out of bed.

"Peter, I have to go," she insists, but he he catches her wrist in his hand and shakes his head.

"I know," he whispers, pressing his lips against the inside of her elbow. "So go."

She doesn't, though. She lets him talk her into the shower, and neither of them can keep their hands to themselves. It's slippery and dangerous and utterly unlike her, but it thrills her to think that she could be the kind of woman who does this sort of thing.

*

By the end of the summer, she's pretty much living with Peter and she's almost sorry that Northwestern's transfer application deadline has passed.

"I love you," he tells her in the first week of August. They've been counting the days that they have left together before she goes back, and a piece of her breaks a little bit.

"You too," she murmurs, pressing a kiss against his wrist, and she does, she really does. It's not perfect, of course. He and Owen don't get along, for one thing, but that's not really a surprise, considering.

"So I was thinking, don't fly back to Washington--"

"Peter," she cuts him off. "I'm not dropping out of law school."

"That's not what I mean," he says, quickly. "I mean, let me drive you."

They pack up his car and leave early on a Friday morning, taking the wheel in two hour shifts. The plan had been to drive straight through, but she spots a flyer at a rest stop advertising the existence of the world's largest rubber stamp and she insists on a stop in Cleveland. Peter doesn't seem to understand why and when she tries to explain it, she finds that the words die on her lips. Last year seems so far away, suddenly, and it makes her feel like she's getting old. She tells herself that it's just a part of growing up, of setting aside silly schoolgirl crushes. She doesn't object when he suggests that they get a hotel for the night. Spending twelve hours in a car is something that kids do, and they're not kids anymore.

When they finally get back to DC, when the car is unloaded and she's caught up with her roommate, she calls Will to make dinner plans. It's strange and exciting and terrifying, the thought of introducing her best friend to her boyfriend.

They're early or Will's late, and Peter's getting irritated. She doesn't blame him, not really. They didn't eat lunch, and they're both starving, and even though she's never been one of those women who's comfortable with public displays of affection, she kisses him in the lobby of the restaurant because she doesn't want them to stand around snapping at each other.

Peter's pushing right up against her boundaries as he so often does, sliding his hands down to cup her ass when she hears Will and she pulls away from the kiss. He looks so adorably awkward, and she grins as she pulls him into a hug. She wants to tell him how much she's missed him, but she's hungry and Peter's hungry so she decides to let the admission wait.

Dinner is strained and awkward, and she's pretty sure Peter can't stand Will. She keeps looking over at him, trying to reassure him with a glance that Will really is a good guy. It doesn't seem to work, and she's almost relieved when he excuses himself to use the restroom.

"He's great, isn't he?" she asks Will.

"Yeah, he's… really something," Will mumbles, and she frowns. She's about to ask what he means when he shakes his head. "He's great," he says. "He's great."

"I'm so glad you guys got to meet," she admits, and it occurs to her that she's _this close_ to gushing but she can't stop herself. "I've never been in love before," she adds, and it's weird, saying it. As soon as the words have left her lips, she knows that it isn't true. It's not that she isn't in love with Peter, she is, she _really_ is, but it's a lie all the same.

"I'm happy for you," Will says, but he sure as hell doesn't _sound_ happy.

She wants to correct herself, to fix it, to say _something_ , but then Peter comes back and she puts on a smile, weirdly relieved that she doesn't get the opportunity. The correction wouldn't help anything, wouldn't change anything. So what if she might love Will, too? Peter loves her, and it's as simple as that. That's what love should be, really, simple and easy and shared. Just the _idea_ of loving Will scares her, makes her feel lost and unsure. He's her best friend, and she needs him, and, really, that's more than enough.

When they part, Will kisses her cheek and that's that. Time to grow up.


End file.
